4/26/01: Here. In my head
What I like about morning is that it’s totally quiet inside my head.
That probably sounds crazy, but I mean it. There’s a comforting quiet to it all. Once I wake up completely, I start thinking and I can’t stop. It’s all words and images and plans and things I’m trying not to remember only I remember them anyway.
But right first thing, I’m talking pouring the coffee time, I have no inner monologue. There’s just thoughts like this. “Coffee, good. Sugar, I like sugar.” I even say this stuff out loud as I go. “Breakfast, I could eat breakfast, maybe I should.”
The world seems purer this way. I walk out of my house and put on my sunglasses and the two minute walk to the subway is just pure happiness. I’m not at work, therefore I’m happy. And then I look at where the pigeons roost in the underside of the elevated subway. I don’t have any conscious thoughts about it, like “does the vibration of the subway keep their eggs from developing?” Just: “Pigeons, nesting, cute, yay.”
By the time I get to work, though, it’s back to normal me, all spilling with vocabulary and memories and conflicting plans and confusions and things that make me happy and things that make me sad and it’s annoying.
Maybe I just drink too much coffee.